Of Dust and Ashes
by Faith Hoyden
Summary: In which a friendship is forged and tested, an evening goes terribly wrong and a decision is made which will change their lives.
1. Chapter the First

Rupert watched through the gloom as the kid in the middle of the floor slumped backwards, the needle quivering in his arm. He forced down his instinctive panic, the immediate urge to run to the boy. He looked dead. Rupert clenched his fists, curled the panic inwards, curbed his instincts. They were there to get a job done, not to rescue some thankless junkie. Nevertheless, he felt relief flood him as he finally made out the boy's shallow breathing and relaxed into the pillar he was leaning against, appearing to allow the deep thud of the bass playing throughout the warehouse to relax him into a trance. Lazily, he turned to study the girl who thought he hadn't noticed her. His gaze raked her in seconds and he was about to turn away, dismissing her as yet another wannabe Wicca when the look in her eyes made him pause. She looked...hungry. He grinned at her, a sudden disconcerting flash of white teeth in the darkness of the old warehouse. The look in her eyes sharpened and she took a step closer.

"You know who I am." He had to strain to hear her over the endless thump of the bass that pounded through the room. Her voice was cultured and sounded amused.

"I know what you are." he replied, his own voice barely more than a growl. She laughed.

"And yet you're still not running. You've got guts." She paused as her faced morphed into the horrifying ridged mask of a vampire. "Want to see them?"

Rupert sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping for a little more than the rather worn routine of entice, threaten, attack, repeat which appeared to be all that the Oxford vampires were able to manage. It was almost too easy, he thought, stepping aside as she rushed him and then plunging the stake from his sleeve through her back and into her heart. Where was the challenge, the danger? Dammit, where was the fun? He brushed her dust from the shoulders of his jacket, his most prized possession, despite its rather battered and scarred condition, and glanced around the warehouse, taking in the positions of the rest of his group. Thomas on his left and James a little further. Deirdre on his right and David…fuck. Grabbing his stake from where it had fallen he ran towards where David was struggling with a group of vampires. He cursed as he ran. David never bloody _listened_. Stupid fuck deserved whatever he got but he was still in Rupert's charge and so under his protection. Colliding with the group, Rupert had smashed his stake into the back of the first vampire before he noticed that one of them had David and was dragging his head back, exposing his throat and bending in for the kill…and then was nothing but dust. He made out Thomas through the dust and grinned at him. He was the youngest of Rupert's little group of hunters but had definite potential and a thirst for the fight that was positively terrifying. Rupert turned, bringing his stake up in readiness and found nothing but air; the other vampires had evidently fled. In fact the entire warehouse seemed empty. He waved an arm at James.

"Turn that crap off!" He yelled. James nodded and yanked at a bundle of wires, abruptly cutting off the music. "Everyone okay?" He asked. They nodded, David looking shaken. He would have to talk to the boy about his endless meaningless heroics. He could have died, then and there, on the filthy concrete floor of a crack house. Rupert felt suddenly ill, realising with a jolt exactly why this was expressly forbidden by the Watchers Council. But they couldn't just sit back and do nothing, knowing that those creatures were out there, knowing that they could really make a difference. Mentally, he shook himself. It was no use getting maudlin. "I reckon that's enough for tonight. Home?"

They were making their way back towards the door, careful not to let their guard down when Rupert remembered the kid he'd been watching earlier. The rest of the room appeared to be empty, addicts, dealers and vamps making themselves scarce at the first sign of organised violence, but the boy was still unconscious. Rupert sighed and walked over to him. They could hardly leave him here now. He looked down at the boy and gasped. He was…beautiful. Dark lashes on impossibly high cheekbones, lips red and full, like a girl's, soft dark curls falling over a pale forehead and yet a determined set to his jaw that prevented him from being too feminine. Rupert reached down to stroke the curls away. He was almost angelic in his perfection. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to protect this one, to keep him safe always.

"Rupert? What on earth are you doing?" Deirdre's squeak made him jump backwards, pulling his hand away as if he had been burnt.

"Deidre, we can't just leave him here. What if they come back?" He heard himself, pathetic, practically begging, and winced. What had he become? She sniffed.

"I suppose not." There was a drawn out pause before she continued, as she made her displeasure clear. "Where is he going to stay? You're all in halls. It's going to be hard enough to get you all back in without awkward questions, let alone him. He doesn't look like he'll wake up for days." As if to deliberately mock her, the boy chose that moment to grab the front of Rupert's t-shirt.

"Janus, ego subsisto, ut umquam, vestri fidelis, degenero filius"

"What did you just say?" whispered Rupert. The boy did not answer him, his eyes once more glazed and his hold on Rupert's t-shirt slipping. Rupert shook him, hard, and growled his question again. There was no response from the boy. Deidre was still talking.

"I suppose you're going to ask me to put him up and really I think it's a bit much. I mean, honestly, look at him. He looks like a cheap rent boy. I…I…" She trailed off under the force of Rupert's glare. "I mean, of course he can stay, I wouldn't dream of leaving him here, it's just…" She trailed off again, sighed and gingerly tugged on one of the boy's arms. "Let's get him home then."


	2. Chapter the Second

Ethan woke to birdsong and sunlight on his face. This was unusual in itself; he saw himself as more of a creature of the night, and he took a moment to luxuriate in it before he even started an attempt to work out where he was. He stretched like a cat and was surprised to find himself on what seemed to be a sofa. Warily he opened one eye. Nothing seemed to happen. He opened the other and sat up. He glanced around a tiny living room, crowded with overstuffed chairs, frilly coasters and…holy fuck, was that a teddy bear? He clenched his eyes shut and groaned. Well, at least that explained why he was still dressed and had evidently slept on the sofa but it still didn't make any sense. The last thing he remembered was shooting up in that warehouse on the edge of town and he really couldn't see anyone who chose to decorate their living room in…he cracked an eye open again and sighed. It wasn't a dream. The room really was pink. Anyway, no one who lived here would dream of even visiting that part of town, let alone of dragging home an unconscious junkie.

He shrugged to himself. A bed was a bed, even if it was…actually a pink sofa. He shuddered delicately. Urgh. Fighting the urge to live up to their expectations of an addict and at least nick the video, he stood up. It was harder still to resist smashing the collection of glass animals. It was hardly a crime, he'd be doing humanity a bloody favour, but he really didn't ever, ever want to meet whoever lived here and that meant not waking them up. Contenting himself with a simple glamour to make the satin heart the bear was holding appear real, he grabbed his boots (neatly lined up on the mat, he noted) and darted out of the door. He paused in the doorway and, with a quickly suppressed giggle, flicked his fingers at the heart, making it beat before he finally shut the door. Bloody hell, it was good to get out of there. He patted his pockets, pulling a battered cigarette packet from one and a crumpled book of matches from another and sparked up, taking a deep drag. He grinned; time to find someone to buy him breakfast.


	3. Chapter the Third

Deirdre suddenly jolted into consciousness, reaching instinctively for the dagger she kept under her pillow. What had woken her up? Keeping a tight hold on the dagger, she padded into the living room. Catching sight of the crumpled pile of sheets on the sofa, she remembered with distaste the kid that her boyfriend had insisted she bring home. He was evidently gone. Damn. What was she going to tell Giles? With a sigh, she turned to pick up the phone and then leapt backwards with a shriek. Forcing herself to calm down, she peered at her favourite bear. Oh god, it was a heart. A real heart. And it was beating. She fetched a plastic bag and, shuddering with revulsion, prodded the bear until it fell into the bag. She opened the door, ready to dispose of the entire revolting mess, then realised that it was rather more than just a sick joke. Giles would want to see it. Worse, he would be interested. She had hoped that he would question the kid, find out that he was nothing more than a rambling junkie with a smattering of Latin and that would be the end of it. Sighing again she put the bag in the sink, which could at least be scrubbed, and picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" came a sleepy voice from the other end of the phone. Deirdre took a deep breath.

"Ummm, hi Giles, it's me"

"Deirdre?" Rupert was instantly alert. "Are you okay? What's happened?"

"No, nothing like that." She hastened to reassure him. He worried more than anyone she'd ever known. But then, she thought wryly, he, at least, had good reason. "It's that jun…" remembering his reaction to her insults the night before, she quickly corrected herself, "the boy we rescued. He's, ummm, he's gone." She paused, debating whether or not to tell him about the 'surprise' the boy had left her. Maybe if he just thought he was another addict…but no. He had to know. "That's not all. He left a thank you gift."

"Oh yeah?" She could practically hear him grinning into the phone. "What was it?"

"A heart." She answered simply. "And it's beating"


	4. Chapter the Fourth

"It really is ingenious, you know."

"Giles…" Deirdre said, warningly.

"Yes, yes," Rupert replied testily, "It's terrible, he's a bad, bad man, grrr. But you have to admit, it's a stunning piece of work. And you didn't hear anything? Then he must have done it almost silently, you're quite a light sleeper, aren't you?" He didn't bother pausing for an answer. It was clear that her part in this conversation would be minimal. She couldn't really bring herself to care. She would just be glad when the…when _it_ was gone. Dutifully she dragged her attention back to her boyfriend. "And considering the condition he was in last night, well, he must be incredible…" He picked up the bear again, quickly reinforcing the enchantments surrounding his fingers. If the kid's glamour was that impressive, then he really didn't want to get hexed. He touched the heart. It felt like satin under his fingertips. Gently, he pulled it away from the bear. Surprised, he looked again at it. It was satin. "Deirdre, look at this!" She peered at him from across the room.

"What?" Rupert showed her the heart. "Oh, you fixed it!" She cried. "How?"

"I didn't fix it. Look, it changes back when I put it by the bear. So clever. Now, that means he can't just have localised the spell on the heart, he must have done something to make it…" He trailed off, deep in thought. Deirdre sighed. So much for 'just another junkie'. They were never going to hear the end of this.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

Ethan sighed with contentment. All in all, it had been a very good day. He'd slept well for the first time in, well, forever, eaten well for the first time in nearly as long (thanks to some pervert who'd wanted Ethan to call him Ripper while he stroked his hair) and still had cash enough left for a damn good hit later on. He closed his eyes and let the beat of the music throb through him. He swayed in time to the pulse, his motion sleek and sinuous, his body moving like a cats. He knew people were watching him and giggled at the thought. He was hardly inconspicuous, with his tighter-than-tight black leather pants and his blindingly bright shirt, his glitter and his black cherry lips, his charming smile and his 'fuck me' eyes. Ethan reached forward and snagged a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of the guy in front of him. He stuck one in his mouth and then stuffed the pack back into his pocket. He lit it and then leaned back. The wall was damp with condensed sweat but that was fine, in fact that was better than fine, that was great. He rubbed himself back against it and okay, maybe the pills were hitting him a little quicker than he thought they would. And the fact that even that made him giggle kinda proved his point. He was higher than a kite and loving every second of it. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it, he pushed himself off the wall and wandered back onto the dance floor, vaguely shaking his hips in time to the beat that was pounding through him. He would be the first to admit his complete inability to dance but somehow his innate grace and easy smile made him irresistible. He shut his eyes, allowing the music to take him completely. It was all he could do not to burst into an impromptu rendition of...what was it? Something by T-rex. And the fact that he wasn't even sure of the song was probably enough to prevent him. For now. He pushed back into whoever he was dancing with and opened his eyes, turning to face them for long enough to determine that they were attractive. He knew he was grinning like a loon but couldn't really bring himself to care. He hadn't had this much fun in an eternity.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt someone tugging on his elbow. Suddenly he was exhausted, too tired even to attempt irritability. He needed to find somewhere to stay for the night. Actually, he needed to find somewhere to stay. His recent lifestyle was beginning to take its toll, even on him. He shook it off, resolving to fix something up in the morning and glanced up to see who was still patiently pulling at his arm. "Randall!" Ethan giggled. Randall peered at him and then smiled.

"You're _completely_ fucked, aren't you?"

Ethan stared at the floor for a moment, gently shaking his head. He looked up at Randall and grinned at the look of patent disbelief on his friend's face. He changed the shake into a nod.

"Yup."

Randall smiled at him again. It was almost impossible not to. "That's my Tabs." He slung an arm around Ethan's shoulders and Ethan gratefully leaned into him, muttering under his breath. He felt, rather than saw, Randall's questioning glance and raised his voice.

"Not yours." He slurred, sweeping an arm out in an expansive gesture that nearly knocked them both off their feet. "Not anybody's." He'd meant to sound independent, proud even but instead the words sounded almost…wistful. He closed his eyes and leant more heavily on Randall. He needed to sit down. This must have been obvious, since Randall guided him to a crowded table and settled down, pulling Ethan into his lap.

"Hey guys, you all know Tabs…" There was a general murmur of assent and greeting before they resumed their conversation. Ethan snuggled more deeply into Randall's shoulder, gratefully accepting the cigarette that was handed to him. He could hear Randall's heartbeat mingling with the deep bass that was still thudding through the club and this, together with the friendly chatter and the after effects of the drug, lulled him into a gentle doze. He was vaguely aware of someone slipping onto the bench beside them.

"Is he alright?" It was a female voice, cultured and light despite the obvious concern. Ethan felt Randall start at the unexpected enquiry and opened his eyes briefly to gaze at the girl. She was pretty, almost model like with her cropped dark hair and luminous brown skin.

"Olivia!" Randall was obviously delighted and shifted to give her more room. "Yeah, he's fine. Just a little high. We call him Tabs for a reason." She smiled, interested, and he elaborated. "Well, essentially, his name's Ethan and he does a lot of drugs, especially ecstasy. Ecstasy, E-tabs, Ethan, Tabs." He seemed to realise that it possibly wasn't the most coherent explanation he had ever given. "It made sense when we were wankered." He offered, with a shrug. She smiled again and leaned towards them.

"Do you think we should get him home?"

Randall frowned. "Easier said than done. His old place got broken into, destroyed and the landlord threw him out. Said he'd had it coming. I think he's been sleeping rough for a while, or finding someone to take him home for the night." His face became grim. "He's too proud to let any of us help but we're all worried about him. Word gets around, y'know? He's been roughed up a couple of times, ended up in the hospital at least once." He tightened his arms around Ethan protectively and the boy muttered something incoherent in return, reaching out a sleepy hand to pet Randall's arm, before sinking once more into unconsciousness. Randall smiled indulgently down at him before lifting his gaze to Olivia's. He looked utterly miserable again. Olivia instinctively reached out to comfort him, shock making her pause with her palm inches from his shoulder as he spoke again. "Christ, Livs, he's only seventeen."


	6. Chapter the Sixth

Ethan opened his eyes and stretched, noting with interest that despite being dragged home with Randall he was still wearing at least some semblance of last night's outfit. He felt a sudden surge of affection for his friend. It was so typical of Randall not to want to 'take advantage' of the state he was in and Ethan was unfathomably grateful for it. His grin faded as he remembered other mornings recently, paying a disproportionate price for the 'hospitality' he had been shown. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the memory of his screams and sobs, the images of the bruises blossoming on his skin. He shook his head abruptly. It was all going to change, he knew it. With renewed vigour he sat up and began to bounce violently on the bed.

"Wakey-wakey, sleepy-head!" he chimed. The only response was a groan from Randall as he pulled the pillow over his face. Ethan stopped bouncing and considered his options. Rejecting any idea of entertaining himself, he crept across the mattress and with one swift move, tugged away the pillow, leaving his face inches from Randall's. "Boo!" Randall groaned again but gave up the attempt to sleep. Blearily he pulled a watch from the bedside table and squinted at it.

"Jeeze Ethan, what time is it?" He rolled over and looked at Ethan who had flopped back onto the bed, confidant that Randall was awake. "Urg. How much do I detest that you don't get hungover?" Ethan smirked.

"Lots." There was a pause. "So what are we going to do?"

Randall smiled. It was impossible to stay mad at Ethan. "I'd suggest breakfast but you're not going to be able to eat for a while are you?" Ethan shook his head mournfully and Randall laughed. "It's your own fault, you daft bugger. If you hadn't taken those pills then you'd be fine. I'd even make you pancakes…" Ethan gave a heartfelt groan.

"Don't, I can't bear it! With raspberry syrup?"

"Yup." Ethan turned the full force of his most appealing look on his friend. "Tabs, you _know_ I would but you also know you wouldn't eat them. Anyway, I think I'm practically immune to _that_ look. Randall grinned mischeviously. "So, how much do you want to know about what you said last night?"

Ethan grimaced. "Was I bad?"

"Well, you spent most of the early hours petting my arm and Olivia's leg and calling us good kittys." Ethan groaned. "Then you became fascinated by the texture of my jacket. That kept you quite for almost an hour. Then you were convinced your arm smelt like peanut butter and kept making everyone you saw smell you." This prompted another groan. "But I think you topped it all when Livs started asking you questions and you announced to the entire room that the reason you were homeless was because you refused to blow your landlord." Randall's voice became serious. "But that it was a pointless protest because that's how you've been surviving." Ethan was silent. Randall's voice was gentle, almost pleading, "Tabs, is it true?" There was a silence that seemed to last an eternity then Ethan spoke, a whisper that cracked as he formed the single word.

"Yes."


End file.
